


knights of darkness

by neverloseyourpride



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, HBIC reader who is a knight of ren, Injury Recovery, Post-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Power Dynamics, Power Exchange, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Reader-Insert, Sass, Self-Insert, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Snark, Tension, The Dark Side of the Force, The Force, and then we get into the Good Stuff, but only bc i want to establish this glorious relationship between reader/kylo, first couple of chapters are short to set the scene, slightly plot heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-03 15:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6616360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverloseyourpride/pseuds/neverloseyourpride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jedi Pupils Murdered by Peer. Ben Solo on the Run. Force Sensitive Children Go Missing. The headlines are uttered on the mouths of many across the galaxy. It a curious sequence of events, and one, coincidentally, that you know the truth behind. (You didn't think that Ben Solo wanted to kill ALL of the Jedis, did you?)</p><p>You stir from beneath the heavy weight of you cloak, a creature dressed all in black with eyes glinting brightly. A Knight of Ren, you are formed from darkness, forged from the empty colour of space and the red hot burning of stars. Upon your shoulders sits a heavy weight of sworn kinship and promises of power. You undertake Supreme Leader Snoke’s commands like a loyal warhound, teeth bared and fury ferocious. Kylo Ren leads this pack of teenagers-turned-murderers as Master of Ren, the reminder of a boy you would all follow into the depths of a black hole.</p><p>Pre- and post-Episode VII: The Force Awakens. Kylo Ren/Reader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**THE DISTANT PAST:** Ben Solo was a child of war, although he was yet to set foot on a battlefield. Raised to belong to one side (the light side; his mother’s side; his father’s side – his life had been a constant struggle of choosing who to stand beside, who was _right_ and who was _wrong),_ they had insisted that he learned to control his emotions. That he still his mind. But his thoughts had jaws which dripped red with blood, biting and barking, and one day something _snaps_. 

Why must he do as they say? Ben Solo did not wish to end up like his uncle, soft and quiet. He wanted to rip the stars from the sky, make them shine in the shape of his own name. He wanted to watch buildings crumble to the ground at his command and revel at a world recreated to suit his own desires.

His mother had been a princess, once, but he wanted to be **more**.

In the end, it was this willingness to succeed that led him to be manipulated in the hands of Supreme Leader Snoke. This was not due to ~~Ben~~ Kylo Ren’s foolishness, but instead due to Snoke’s sly nature. It was a tipping of the scales, you see. An imbalance of power disguised to look like a kind gesture.

“Become Kylo Ren,” Snoke had uttered, voice low and grating, full of promise. “Become what you are destined to be. Join me as my apprentice, and I will teach you our ways.”

And the dark haired boy with blood on his hands had nodded gratefully and accepted his new title of master of Knights of Ren and Snoke’s second-in-command.

But Kylo Ren was just _one_  Ren. There were others who fell beneath Kylo’s command, knights of darkness just as eager to enforce the First Orders’ mission to restore order to the galaxy. It was true, mystery enshrouded the band of Knights, as deep and dark as the capes which sat upon their backs. Very few members of the First Order were even aware of their existence - and in fact, that is exactly how they intended for it stay.

But the truth behind the Knights, for you have always been privy to such secret information, lay in a headline that was distributed across the galaxy’s comms two decades ago, worrying Order and Resistance alike. _Force Sensitive Children Go Missing._

And so our story begins, ten years ago, in a dimly lit training hall with seven youths between the ages of sixteen and nineteen.

 

* * *

 

**THE NOT SO DISTANT PAST:**

<< _Concentrate [y/n]_. >>

It is a command not spoken aloud, but instead received like a piercing knife slicing through your mind. Your jaw tightens and limbs, already tense, return to a defensive stance in the centre of the room. To your right, the rest of your peers watch on, their eyes dark and solemn as they type notes. Doing your best to ignore the audience, you palm the lightsaber in your hand, switching it back on with that familiar _vroom_  that adds an extra spike of adrenaline into your bloodstream.

Before you stands Kylo. His own saber seems to crackle viciously, its terrifying appearance only heightened by the additional crossguard and the unreadable helmet placed upon his head. “Again,” he orders, this time through his robotic voice sequencing system. 

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

For a moment, time seems to slip away. The rest of the training hall becomes irrelevant, washing away to leave just you and your master in the midst of combat training. Despite a difference in age of just a few tender years, you feel a need to impress him. It is likely because you know that Supreme Leader Snoke is his mentor, and any praise for your efforts that could be slipped in Snoke’s direction would be a great benefit.

With a delicate inhale of air, you strike forwards in one smooth lunge, obtaining immediate contact of lightsabers. You press into the force that is Kylo’s strength, testing, investigating, calculating. Many may have thought it foolish to consider a possibility of overpowering him, particularly given his height advantage, but you are _clever._ Tactics and cunning are a forte, and you’d be damned if you embarrassed yourself again by ending up flat on your back. 

Light on your toes, you spun to Kylo’s left, aiming for his shoulder only to find his swing parrying you off once more. Backing off a little, you lingered for a moment, deciding it was about time that he attack first.

This decision perhaps wasn’t the wisest.

Kylo slashed towards you with all the elegance of a highly skilled warrior, his lightsaber forming an X with your own in a rushed attempt to stave him off.

His presence hovers at the edge of your mind. << _Give in, [y/n]?_ >>

You grit your teeth, pushing in earnest against the ever nearing saber. << _You wish_. >>

In desperate hope, you kick a heel into his ankle and, in a rain of red sparks, retreat out of reach once more. An angered hiss seep from the helmet, Kylo’s shoulders squaring sharply. It wasn't difficult to irritate him. Despite being the supposed master of their unruly group of force-using teenagers, he by far had the worst temper. Which, in truth, was what made him so successful. 

But it was also his downfall.

Awaiting his predictable show of dominance over his inferior students, you remain still. He charges, a petrifying sight, and does not anticipate your sudden dodge out of his path. Fluidly, you extend your arm, lightsaber tip brushing against the armour at his shoulder before he can turn and defend himself. 

There is an impressed cheer from your peers, but, before your pride can sink in, you feel something clawing its way into your head. It forces itself into your skull, the lightsaber in your hand dropping to the floor as lithe fingers loosen. 

“Unfortunately for you, [y/n +  l/n], your mental barriers are _weak_.” Despite the robotic distortion to Kylo’s voice, there was no doubting the sneer that flickered across his lips. His hand outstretched, you feel an invisible force tighten around your throat. Stars dance across your gaze like dust motes in the light, your peripheral vision darkening as the sound of rushing blood fills your ears. He flicks his wrist and sends you sprawling across the floor, temporarily dazed. But in amidst everything, there is a metallic taste of fear. It lingers on not just your own tongue, but his too. And the fact that he knows you’re aware of this acts as an even greater catalyst.

After that, Kylo is dismissed (or does he step down?) as a mentor and resumes his own apprenticeship under the ever-looming presence of Snoke. You and the other force sensitive teenagers are dispersed to various different First Order bases across the Unknown Regions.

It’s another couple of years until you are reunited again. You all don your helmets, observing one another with shielded eyes, a sense of hope unfurling in your chest as a new title is bestowed upon you. [y/n] Ren. A knight of darkness, trained to serve the First Order as the state’s secret enforcement body. From then on, there is no turning back.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hologram meetings which end in silence, a red scar across the night sky that heralds both the end of an era and a new beginning, unspoken victories met with the matt black helmet of your fellow Knight of Ren, and a deserted planet with an entire population living beneath its surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Knights are basically a group of sassy emos with good fashion sense and sharp smirks and I ADORE THEM (also a big part of me wants to do a spin-off fic at some point set when they're teenagers because can u imagine, but I don't want to get too ahead of myself).
> 
> This is my first time writing a Star Wars fic, my first time writing a reader self-insert fic, and the first proper fic I’ve written in three years. Those facts aside, I hope that this is at least reasonably decent!

The endless void of space is a dark thing which leers at you through the window of your TIE series vessel, stars flickering tantalisingly out of sight, the starcraft humming stubbornly beneath the soles of your feet as you navigate Pressy’s Tumble. Your current station here is mundane, one of surveillance and security as if little more than an alert guard dog, and it as if this winged machine - created for war and conflict - is aware of this. You feel it lingering in the flesh of your gums and behind finely polished fingernails, a pressing desire to return to the First Order, to report to Starkiller Base and congratulate your comrades at obliterating the New Republic from the starscape. 

Instead, you are left to protect assets. Ahead of you, the asteroid field stretches out, an occasional glimmer of metal glinting far below the belly of the craft. Here lies the Order’s mining operation, a moon blown apart to gather its precious ores and hidden gems. Managed destruction which would lead to creation; that was at the heart of it all. To make something better, you first had to strip everything away until you reached the bare white bones. From then on, a skeleton could be built upon and improved. 

“Jarix Ren to [y/n] Ren. Copy.”

The sudden burst of life from your comms unit causes you to startle, a finger swiftly pressed to your earpiece. “I’m here Jarix,” you inform your fellow Knight of Ren. “I’m glad to hear your voice. Everything at Pressy’s is... slow.”

“Just checking in to inform you that all went to plan at Starkiller. Hosnian Prime is no more.”

You feel a spike of pride, lips twitching briefly at the victory. Your gloved hand flexes around the TIE unit’s control stick, navigating a sharp U-shape in the air. A dim red smear of light becomes apparent in the far corner of the glass cockpit, a crimson scar cutting into the galaxy. That was what success looked like - the destruction of your enemies.  “Snoke will be pleased. And what of the deviant Stormtrooper that went rogue? Any news?”

There is a pause, the hesitation full of words lingering behind the other Knight’s teeth. Your brow swoops into a faint frown, the concerned expression hidden behind the sleek helmet that crowned your skull.

“Word has it that Kylo went to avenge his dignity and claim back the BB Unit. He missed the ceremony upon Starkiller.” Jarix exhales loud enough for it to be audible across the comms unit, the irritation in his voice unmistakable. “Supreme Leader Snoke is giving him the benefit of doubt and continues to put his faith in Kylo. When I broached the topic with him, he suggested I do the same.”

“Kylo has lost his way,” you respond, matter-of-factly. The voice at the other end agrees.

“His unresolved issues are beginning to influence him once again. We all know that the current mission to find Skywalker’s map has dredged up his past. It was wrong of Snoke to put Kylo in charge of this.”

You grimace slightly. “He is testing him.”

“He is,” Jarix says. “But this time I’m not convinced that the result will be one that pleases Snoke.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Time passes without note on Pressy’s Tumble asteroid belt, days melting together like the hot molten ore churned into containers and carried away to be used elsewhere. The lack of atmosphere results in never-ending night, mining buildings embedded into the broken moon’s rocky surface showing no sign of aiding in deciphering what day it is. Despite this, you know that it has been four months since you first laid your eyes on the mining operation. The truth behind your assignment there was that Snoke did not want the Knights of Ren to be located too close to one another. The saying _safety in numbers_ , in this case, fell upon deaf ears - but only because those ears were intelligent enough to know better. If the Resistance struck out, they would not be able to kill the Knights in one fell swoop. 

It was Snoke’s cunning to stay one step ahead of your opponent like this that struck awe into you. 

And so you had tried not to complain when the reassignment came in, packing your belongings and practically banishing yourself to the godforsaken place. Even now, the miners still watch you with wary gazes and the small unit of Stormtroopers stationed across the various asteroids seem to shift uncomfortably at your presence. In a place that runs like clockwork, law enforcers are unnecessary. You end up leaving the same question upon the lips of those you pass: _why is she here?_

That question is eventually answered when an order comes in from Supreme Leader Snoke himself. His voice crackles in your ear, deep and powerful, resonating down your spine. Recent intel received tells tales of a group of miners on asteroid Delta Six conspiring to get ore to the Resistance in exchange for a hefty sum of money. You nod, solemn, and know what it is you have to do...

Your lightsaber strikes the miners down where they stand. It is a quiet fury that fuels you, cold and made of steel as you swipe at your victims. A pool of blood forms at your boots, their screams ignored, bodies hitting the floor in quick succession. Their deaths were like that of sacrificial lambs, serving a purpose to remind others of who held the power in their hands. The First Order did not tolerate **traitors,** and you were more than happy to enforce this rule.

You had not, after all, become a Knight of Ren for nothing.

A meeting is called in the days that follow. You stand in a circle with your fellow Knights, Pressy’s hologram technology slightly behind that which you’re used to. Transmission lines cut through the forms of the others, their features cast in an eerie blue. Despite not all being in the same room, comfort blossoms in your chest. The seven of you have known one another for decades now, having grown and trained side by side. There had been more of you at the beginning, though -- twenty or so children, all stolen from their families. Those who protested or cried were the first to be disposed of. From then on, the numbers continued to drop slowly. One dies due to wounds caused by another Force-sensitive child. Another cannot survive their training upon an ice planet and subsequently freezes to death. One tries to return to the Resistance and is cut down by Snoke himself...

“It would appear that the Scavenger girl from Jakku who has sided with the Resistance is Force-sensitive,” Supreme Leader Snoke announces, sat in the centre of his Knights. “Kylo Ren has imprisoned her at Starkiller Base.” Beside him stands the aforementioned Kylo, his hologram figure so still he may have well has been made of marble.

“Then we must kill her,” Hritha Ren declares, and a handful of Knights nod in agreement. 

You tilt your head, helmet glinting silver in the light. “She was the girl who accompanied the Stormtrooper traitor and the BB Unit, is she not?”

“Yes,” Snoke responds, ever-lacking in emotion, his expression schooled and unreadable.

“In that case it may be beneficial to use her as bait.” You laugh once, a sharp and humourless sound upon voice distorting frequencies that resembles static. “Stars know that the Resistance have never been the sort to sit around when one of their own could be getting tortured. If this girl is as important as she potentially could be, Organa will want her back.”

“[y/n] has a point,” Jarix Ren says from beside you, and you feel a satisfied smirk tug at one corner of your lips. “As long as another of Captain Phasma’s FN-troopers don’t try and help the girl _escape_ , we should be fine.”

There is a small crescendo of laughter, but it is swiftly silenced by the Master of Ren. “She is contained and secure,” Kylo growls, his irritation for any disrespectful comments towards what happened aboard the Finalizer increasingly apparent. You pass a glance in Jarix’s direction, and despite being unable to see one another’s faces, you know that he is grinning.

That was the trouble with training teenagers to become murderers for the dark side - competition fuelled you and lingered in your blood long after reaching adolescence. Always testing one another, you were as much a family unit as you were an elite organisation of killers.

“We will wait and see what the Resistance’s next move is,” Supreme Leader Snoke decides, sensing that further taunting may be brewing in his Knight’s chests and deciding to call the meeting to an end before anything became too heated. “Keep the Scavenger girl secure, Kylo. As for the rest of you, you will remain where you are currently stationed until further notice.” He signs everyone off immediately and you are left alone to the silence of the room.

Further notice, as it happened, was quick to arrive in the form of Starkiller Base blowing up. Kylo’s shame at allowing the girl - Rey, who apparently had become handy with a lightsaber overnight - to not only escape but also injure him and help the Resistance blow up the base echoes across the galaxy. You and the Knights of Ren shift uncomfortably beneath your capes, summoned to Moraband: Snoke’s newly declared base for the First Order.

It is a fitting place, you think, your eyes scanning the dusty planet’s horizon, the tombs of long-deceased Sith Lords jutting out from the landscape, stone shrines and statues left to crumble. Abandoned long ago, the Republic and Resistance alike took one look at the abandoned surface and deemed it an uninhabited graveyard. Little did they know that deep below the ground, beneath bones picked-clean and whispers of the past, a labyrinth of tunnels had been caved out.

“Kylo Ren has sustained serious injuries.” Snoke sits upon a throne carved from a pale red rock, his hands curved around the edge of each arm rest, icy gaze set upon the six Knights. “Those who survived the attack, including the FN Corps and Commandant Cadets, arrived before you all and have begun to set up their stations here.” 

Tension rolls off of each of you in waves, the Force’s presence in Snoke’s chamber almost shimmering visibly. It had been an age since the Knights of Ren had all stood side by side (with the exception of the absent Kylo), but there is a distinct lack of joy to the circumstances.

“General Hux and Captain Phasma shall be joining us shortly, as will a doctor from the Medical Division to give an update on Kylo Ren’s status.” 

You swallow, still processing the events. None of you had expected the Resistance to rise up and strike back quite so suddenly. Being unprepared was a rarity, and one that triggered no small amount of discomfort from deep inside you. 

“As for the Master of the Knights of Ren,” Supreme Leader Snoke continues. “I am reappointing the title until Kylo Ren’s health improves. We cannot allow the Resistance to disrupt the First Order’s structure.” Blue eyes shift in your direction and you feel as if you have been pinned beneath them, fixed in place like a butterfly specimen upon a cork board, wings outstretched and unmoving. “Congratulations [y/n] Ren, you have been **promoted**.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A beat counted upon the breath of training troops, one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four, the ache in your neck when you've been stood in the same position for too long, a spike of euphoria achieved only by the knowledge of your success, the smell of burning remains drifting by on a warm breeze.

You take to being the Master of Ren like a fish to water.

It is not that Kylo ~~is~~ was incompetent at his job, nor that you were better suited for it. There was simply something inside yourself that meant you flourished under your new title. It was a desire for success, perhaps. Or the fact that you very much enjoyed being able stalk down corridors with the rest of the Knights trailing at your heels.

And your other comrades - General Hux and Captain Phasma - are the sort of people you have always been inclined to surround yourself with. Hux is disciplined and works hard, the hardest in fact. Regardless of the time, he is on duty. You wonder if his fingers twitch in his sleep, desperate to be gliding over a holopad or issuing commands to his cadets. His stare has, you believe, softened over the past few weeks as the two of you grow more accustomed to one another. Though this does not stop you from bickering occasionally - wolves wishing to stake their claim, so to speak. It is in your nature, as it is his. But you _know_ that he had expected you to be a Kylo Ren doppleganger and the brief spark of relief which crosses his features when you don’t wreak havoc upon being told bad news speaks volumes.

Phasma, in contrast, seemed to take a shine to you immediately, and indeed she was instantly considered admirable in your own books. Stoic and brilliant, she does not question your judgement despite having only known one another briefly. She is loyal and reliable and you soon find one another sharing jokes across your comms and watching from the balcony of a training hall as she drills her Stormtroopers.

You are approached on one such occasion by the General, his presence reassuring yet as formal as ever.

“[y/n] Ren,” he greets after a few moments of silence, the warrior-like calls of the Stormtroopers drilling below echoing through the wide open space.

“Hux,” you respond in likeness, voice modifier buzzing into life.

“We have intelligence that a scout on the border of the Outer Rim Territories has been apprehended by a Resistance party outpost.” Thin lips press together, a thin line across his face like a scar. There is very little glee to the man’s tone, and even less radiating from him. “It is likely they have taken her hostage.”

You turn, slowly, until you have your back against the balcony railing. “This worries you.” It is not a question but a statement.

Hux raises an eyebrow, seems to remember that you are fully capable of reading minds the same way Kylo had countless time before as if he has forgotten, before schooling his expression into a blank canvas once more. “The scout in question was one of my Lieutenants out on field duty. Whilst we do our best to compartmentalise our information, she harbours no small amount of knowledge. _Including_ our current whereabouts.”

You hum, both thoughtful and displeased, the airwaves crackling in response. “Your Lieutenants are trained to withstand various torture methods.” Again, it is not a question, and this seems to ruffle General Hux somewhat. You watch the muscles in his jaw tense but there’s a glimmer in his eye which suggests he is more than happy to weave his own sharp responses.

“ _Yes, Ren._ Of course they are _._ But do not forget that the Resistance now have the girl, Rey, on their side. If she is capable of performing the same _tricks_ as you and the other Knights, I do not think it wise to allow our Lieutenant to remain in their hands for too long.”

Beneath your mask, you feel the pull of a smirk play at one corner of your mouth. A passion for intelligent debates with a hint of snark was exactly why you and General Hux worked so well together. Rather than butting heads like him and Kylo, you were both more than happy to oppose opinions with one another without a section of the base getting destroyed by a lightsaber in the process.

“And so you have come to ask me whether we should send a troop to the Outer Rim in order to retrieve this supposedly captured Lieutenant? Well Hux, I am flattered, but you and I both know that we’re of equal standing. You’re a big boy now, I’m sure you can make these decisions yourself.”

Hux scoffs, although that is the only reward that your humour receives. “Whilst I’m glad to hear you acknowledge that I am _more_ than capable of doing my job, that is not what I am here to ask.”

Below you, the Stormtroop unit stop their training and begin to pack up. You hear their steady feet march across the mats, as steady and rhythmic as a heartbeat. “So what is your question?” you ask, and your voice has softened slightly but this is a fact that your helmet hides.

Hux’s eyes are bright, fixed upon you as he speaks. “I want you to oversee the mission alongside Phasma. For all we know, the Force sensitive girl may be there.”

It is a proposition you had not been expecting, but your response takes very little thought. “It would be my pleasure, General Hux.”

He nods once firmly in response and you suppose it is his way of saying thank you, watching as the man turns sharply on his heel and strides away into the heart of the base.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_[Timestamp: exactly twenty-four hours later]_

There is a dark bird-shaped creature circling in the sky far above your head. You wonder if it is an omen, or whether it can sense the oncoming skirmish and tension which flutters through the stomach of Phasma’s selected Stormtroopers. A harsh and unforgivable wind rips across the plain which stretches about before you, snapping at the cape on your back. The element of surprise will not work here - not in this flat landscape where trees perish and anything unenforced by steel is immediately levelled. Instead, various command shuttles have landed around the perimeter of the Resistance outpost, trapping those within its walls. 

“On my command,” Phasma’s voice hums in your ear, the woman herself situated on the far side of the squat, rectangular fortress. There is a moment of silence, of held breaths and swallowed spit. “ **Fire**.”

A rain of fluorescent red beams are unleashed upon the building. They arc beautifully in the sky, each impact punctuated with an explosion of crumbling brick. A suffocating mixture of dust and smoke billows out in clouds, clean air filtered through white helmets as Stormtroopers ascend upon the crumbling walls. After that, it is a swift, sleek victory. You feel the Resistance members inside quake as they are overcome by their opponents, doing their best to fight back as they slowly drop, one by one, to the floor like flies. The sky pales to an orange hue as the sun begins to set and you continue to watch, content, with your own selected unit who remain unrequired, blessed by the sight of comrades stood triumphant amidst rubble. _Except_ –

“The Lieutenant,” you drawl, the win a hollow one if the intended trophy of victory is not returned home. “Where is she?”

Before an answer can be given, something loud and hollow rocks the earth beneath your feet. The explosion rushes out from the Resistance outpost, a ball of fire consuming all that stands in its path. It swallows the sky, turning everything dark as black clouds smother any light in its way. From where you stand, you can feel the heat grazing through your garments.

“Status report, [y/n] Ren. We’ve lost more than half our troops. What are your thoughts?” Phasma’s voice does not take on a tone of concern but rather is tainted by a bite of irritation at the event that has just unfolded.

“They knew we would be coming,” you respond, and your teeth grate together at the very thought until your jaw begins to ache. Your eyes narrow and you extend your presence out towards the inferno and beyond. Minds recoil as you skim through them, helpless to the Force that you yield. You feel the presence of Stormtroopers, disappointment and bitterness resonating out from them, a requiem for the dead. You feel the injured and dying, their pain fuelling your silent fury. And then– and _then_ –

It is like hitting a metal wall, one which rebounds your advances and crashes into you. Memories of your training as a Knight come flooding back, reminded of the never-ending days spent strengthening your mental barriers whilst learning to pick your way through those of others. You push harder and harder against the block until your breathes become audible and those around you glance over in concern. Something warm collects on your top lip, wet and bloody, and a brief image of a hooded man dressed all in brown flashes through your skull.

“Luke Skywalker,” you snarl, the naming ripping its way up your throat.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words spoken, words unspoken, the lingering taste of copper in your mouth, the way something sinks inside of you when you hear something you don't want to, an ache in your jaw that doesn't fade, the sound of pained breathing.

Sombre feet march heavily upon your return to base. Captain Phasma disappears almost immediately, and you wonder whether she has gone to file a report for each of her Stormtroopers lost or whether the targets in the shooting range are going to be promptly melted by rapid fire from her blaster. The troops are under her command from a young age, after all, and despite all her bravado and fearlessness, it would not surprise you if she thought of each and every one as _hers_. Losing something to the enemy always made for a bitter taste in your mouth.

Death lurks upon the lips of everyone as you pass through the base, and it isn’t until you reach your own private quarters that you realise you’ve continued to have your jaw clenched the whole way. Two rows of teeth press down upon one another, lined up like Stormtrooper helmets or bone-white gravestones.  You expel a hiss of seething rage which manifests itself as a sound not dissimilar to static, angry at the enemy but even more so at yourself. You had failed spectacularly in your mission, come home empty handed, and watched half a unit perish at the hands of the Resistance. It is reminiscent of Kylo Ren’s own recent lack of success, and for a moment you are plagued by a flicker of doubt with two treacherous tails.

The first is that, regardless of what you had first assumed, the job of Master of Ren was entirely dissimilar to anything you had experienced before. You had regarded it merely as a rank, as though you would still have the same duties as usual. Instead, you had been removed completely from the rest of the Knights and placed within the dynamics of the First Order’s military. Level standing of superiority with a General and a Captain was all very well, apart from the fact that Hux and Phasma had both been educated in how to command an army and how to act as an influential leader. You, on the other hand, had been trained to hunt. Trained to obey. Trained to kill. Aside from Kylo, who as Snoke’s apprentice was taught the art of warfare, the remaining Knights of Ren (yourself included) were not soldiers. You were assassins and spies.

The second spark to the flame of doubt in your head is that, given the latest figures and records, the First Order seem to have been pushed onto their back foot by the Resistance. The loss of Starkiller Base was a near-lethal blow, and had Kylo Ren, Captain Phasma and General Hux not been so lucky to escape, then the Order would have swiftly found itself looking to promote people into said positions. It is a haunting thought, and you find yourself spiralling until your door buzzes to announce a visitor.

“General Hux,” your comms unit states, and you hesitate in mourning for the loss of your privacy before letting him in.

The male’s strides are slower than usual but by no means leisurely, his posture ever-rod straight and perfect. “I have news,” he says, controlled and measured. You search his head for resentment in not bringing back his Lieutenant but do not find any (this unsettles you somewhat: is he really that unphased by missions not being successful? And why has your own lack of ability now lead to you becoming paranoid?).

“As do I,” you respond, in a tone significantly darker.

You both watch one another for a moment, neither wishing to be the first to give away the information you harbour. His gaze never falters and you wonder whether he is simply staring at his own reflection in the smooth black surface of your helmet or if he knows that he’s holding your gaze.

“Luke Skywalker has returned,” you say.

“Kylo Ren has awoken,” he says.

And somewhere, out in the depths of space, a supernova erupts.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The decision to keep Kylo Ren in a state of unconsciousness had been Supreme Leader Snoke’s idea, and one that various medical professionals disputed. Funnily enough, said medical professionals had vanished from the face of the planet not long after. You and the other Knights had speculated as to why Snoke wanted to keep Kylo static, and your reasoning was plentiful. Jarix Ren suggests it is to stop Kylo from seeking revenge – that he would undoubtedly end up killing a few of your own out of sheer rage. Aelu Ren hazards a guess that Kylo’s wounds are beyond repair and that appropriate robotic technology is required before he can be awoken. Skor Ren disputes this heartily and says that Snoke wants to ensure that Kylo is fully submerged in the Force’s Dark Side and that he is not given the opportunity to mourn the death of Han Solo. You personally nod at all of these suggestions and come to believe that it is a mixture of all three.

In the end, this is irrelevant.

You are instructed by Snoke to be the last to visit Kylo Ren. The Supreme Leader himself is the first, of course, and a whole day passes before their conversation is over. The other Knights follow, their visits brief and sporadic, and occasionally they come to find you afterwards to feed you titbits of information.

“He’s doing well. No sign of any robotics, but he’s sporting one hell of a scar.”

“Apparently the last thing he remembers is lying in the snow as Starkiller Base erupted beneath him.”

“So far he has managed to destroy three lots of dressings, knock one nurse unconscious and break through all and any restraints that they’ve tried to secure him with.” A smirk is cracked at this by both you and the other Ren. “He’s definitely feeling like his usual self.”

In contrast, Hux and Phasma diplomatically decide to speak to him at the same time, although it is less of a social call and more of a logistical meeting. You pass them in the corridor on their way out with a nod of greeting, neither of the pair looking particularly thrilled as they silently respond with a dip of their own heads, completely in sync. 

The Stormtrooper stationed by the door of Kylo Ren’s quarters is quick to grant you access and you take a small amount of pride in knowing that an order to let you in immediately has been given. Your boots step across the threshold and into the room, door sliding shut behind you. It’s a bizarre light setting inside of 40% luminosity, not dissimilar to that during dusk. The air is surprisingly warm and holds the scent of medical chemicals and cleanliness which is yet to be filtered out through the vents. You are motionless as you take in the sight before you.

Kylo Ren sits upon a chair that, somehow, despite his impressive height, seems to dwarf him. You think to yourself that it was a wide choice to not stay in bed, for such a show of vulnerability would look poor in the eyes of others. He has donned his usual tunic, the long coat around his shoulders strategically concealing any evidence of bandages or wires, but his face remains exposed to the world, unshielded by its usual masking. “[y/n],” he acknowledges, the scar on his face causing his brow to remain in a perpetual frown. Closed eyelids flick open and it is only then that you realise the extent of his injuries: one eye remains sightless, clouded and blind.

Your lips part to greet him, but you become increasingly aware that your own features are still hidden. Leather clad fingers work the helmet from your head, locks of hair cascading over your shoulders. Silence reigns for a moment longer, caught in a void of noiseless conversation. Neither of you need the Force to know what one another is thinking, but it is Kylo who is the first to speak.

“I hear you have been working under the title of Master of Ren.”

There is probing to the statement, though you do not detect any resentment.

“You have heard correctly,” you respond, gentle strides taking you closer, and _oh_ this is peculiar territory. You are so accustomed to Kylo Ren being your superior, to looking up to him for motivation and guidance, that you have not stopped to think that you are now your own source of power. He was looking at someone that he trained step up to take on his role and, as you realise this, the word _replaced_ echoes through the back of your mind.

“It does not surprise me.” Kylo watches you, head tilted ever so slightly to one side. “Your leadership skills were always very clear, even when you were younger.” He shifts, winces at the movement, before continuing. “Although I hear that your latest attack on a Resistance outpost did not go to plan.”

Your otherwise smooth expression sours at the reminder and you are left analysing his words to try and determine if anyone has told him of Luke Skywalker’s return or whether the duty has been left for you to carry out. “Skywalker is back,” you settle with, leaving him to react to this fact as he so wishes. It soon becomes apparent that Supreme Leader Snoke, General Hux, and all others privy to this information had decided it best for you to inform the Knight – how kind of them.

His mouth distorts in an unusual manner, half grimace, half snarl, and the noise that leaves it sounds very much like a wounded animal. You watch his fingers twitch, closing around the ghost of a lightsaber that is not there, and are swift to place a hand upon your own to save it from being swiped out from under your nose and used in a similar manner to a sledgehammer. “Did you see him?” he growls, and he leans forwards in his chair, seeming to forget the pain caused by moving too much. “You should have killed him.”

“No,” you answer, and the face of the Jedi who had once worked alongside those who trained you as a young Padawan moves like a ghost through your head. “I sensed him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had _wanted_ the First Order to know of his return.” You almost add that he likely would have assumed that you had been Kylo himself at first, but decide this is better left unsaid.

His gloved digits ball into a fist and he unleashes a punch upon the armrest of the chair. It gives a mighty crack but remains stationary, any damaged done unseen by your own eyes. “I want him _dead_.” Heavy breaths envelope each word and he strikes the furnishing again but in remains unyielding.

You barely blink at his physical outburst, having grown accustom to his temper during your days of training with the other Knights of Ren. “It will happen,” you say, the sentence a silent promise to the stars.

There is no knowing whether he is reassured by this, but the haunted look that sweeps across his features like the shadow of an eclipse is one he fails to hide. It brings back memories of before; of a group of terrified teenagers-turned-murderers standing in the wake of a boy whose hands are stained with still warm blood. _“Come with me,”_ he had said, and a small group of you did just that. Some had perished along the way, of course. The training for becoming a Knight was no easy thing, but eventually Kylo Ren found himself surrounded by six loyal students dressed all in black and ready to obey. Supreme Leader Snoke had been visibly impressed, but you had all sensed Kylo’s lingering guilt. After all, the Knights were all linked to one another like the points of a constellation. You had spent so long in one another’s heads that a pack mentality soon formed, moving and living as a unit.

Even now, you could feel Kylo’s pain resonating out from him like a swansong.

“I killed my father,” he whispers eventually, hoarse and unsure.

“I know.”

“Snoke believes this has been my greatest challenge to overcome. A victory against the Light.”

“I know,” you repeat, met swiftly by a cold and dark glare.

“I hadn’t realised there was an echo in here, [y/n]. Is that all you can offer?”

You set him with your own fierce look, not about to be insulted by someone who did not need to make enemies out of the people who knew him the best. “Don’t,” you warn.

He exhales, line of sight cast aside, staring moodily at the floor. “I suppose you wish to keep my title now that you’re Master of Ren. When I asked Supreme Leader Snoke about being reinstated, he merely laughed.”

“I haven’t decided.” It is a lie. You pull your gaze away from him too, finding yourself staring at the top of your helmet which sits snugly under one arm. Your eyes look dark in the low light, mysterious and reticent. It would be impossible to step down now, to simply become a Knight of Ren alone once more. For all its difficulties, all its intricacies, being Master of Ren has given you a purpose. Allowed you to stand out from your peers . It is as good as a promotion as you’re ever going to get, and to hand it back to Snoke with a prim smile would be utterly foolish. Kylo knows this. Snoke knows this. The Knights know this.

The male stands, suddenly, and stalks forwards. You frown, noticing the rise and fall of his limp, limbs moving in an unnatural manner. He swallows a gasp of pain and comes to a halt a mere arms length in front of you. His right eye seems an almost silver colour, an empty void bordered by a scar that you know he is secretly proud of.

Your own lower, not in submission but out of concern as you watch a dark and glistening shape spreading across the material of his tunic. You reach out a hand, let the tips of your gloves brush against the warm liquid, turning red from the blood seeping through dressings and material. “It would appear we are going to have to fight for the title,” you murmur, wondering which of you is digging your own grave.

He does not move, simply watches. And then something drips from his lips, quiet but grating. “May the best Knight win.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk about you guys but BOY am I glad these two finally got a proper scene alone together! The Knights of Ren adopt the same mentality as a pack of wolves is currently My Thing, so having Reader and Kylo challenge one another for position of alpha is kinda where I'm going with this.
> 
> I'm so pleased with current feedback for this story, and please do feel free to comment your favourite sentences, etc. so that I know which parts you're all enjoying x


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weight of responsibility sitting heavy upon your shoulders, the laugh of a man dripping in jewels, bright light turning the inside of your eyelids red, smooth leather upon soft velvet, a constant presence at your side like a vulture sat upon one shoulder, ready to pick your failed carcass clean.

When you were all younger and still training in the art of Dark Side seduction, the Knights of Ren had created a set of very specific rules to abide by. It had been during your down time, when black cloaks were cast aside and military-style bunk beds were pushed together for optimum socialising (you had all barely reached two decades of life at this point, don’t forget; not teenagers but not quite adults, you embraced your new existence like cult-worshippers, obsessive and hungry).

The first rule had been to never again mention your past names. This one was wise, for there was no mistaking the way in which the Light tried to tempt you by allowing visions of warm parental smiles and the old, dusky smell of Jedi temples to flit through your mind on occasion. The second rule was to dress only in black. Perhaps this was obvious, but then again you had all been incredibly proud of your image as a collective group. Matching colours were a priority, even if those colours were indeed _not_ a colour but instead the absence of them. Black also happened to be very good at hiding blood stains. The third rule was that, as Master of Ren and a boy you would all follow into the depths of a black hole, Kylo had priority over everyone else. If training weapons were to be picked, you would all allow him to go first. If Supreme Leader Snoke issued assignments to be undertaken, Kylo would have first dibs. It was a sign of respect, the only way you could think of to thank him for showing you a different path for your lives to take – one of greatness and authority that would be written upon the pages of history.

What you had not anticipated, when agreeing with fervour to the implementation of these rules, was that the third one would one day apply to you personally – resulting in your ability to summon use of the Finalizer whenever you so wished. All this power that came with being Master of Ren was wide and uncharted and, quite frankly, you did not know what to do with it. You wonder idly if this is how the Force manifests itself inside bodies when the Light is banished, a source of untapped potential which can smother and burn at the utterance of a single word.

“[y/n] Ren,” your name is spoken by a man you have never met before and you glance at him before turning fully to acknowledge his attempt at getting your attention. He watches you with a careful look from beneath the brim of his military cap, never quite fixing upon the glassy section of your helmet where your own eyes should be.

“Officer.” You do not bother to ask for his name. The Finalizer is a big craft, new and improved following the repair of damages sustained during the destruction of Starkiller Base (General Hux had not been about to see his favourite ship turn to melted metal and ash, after all), and full of First Order recruits that all vaguely resemble one another.

“We will be approaching Artorias’ astral perimeter within the next few minutes. Your Upsilon-class shuttle is reading and waiting in the shuttle bay.”

You nod your thanks and he takes that as his sign to leave, returning to the busy hive of activity that is the command bridge. Planning operations to aid the First Order was also new territory for you, having been far more familiar simply being commanded to carry out said operations, but you find yourself enjoying the task immensely. The First Order had lost the trust of many of its followers following the Resistance’s victory, a sour truth but one nonetheless. To try and prevent a loss of funding (donations, so to speak, to prevent your Stormtroopers from ripping Outer Rim territories apart), you had implemented a new campaign which had been approved by Snoke in his usual not-quite-impressed but still appreciative manner. The Knights of Ren had operated in mystery thus far, but your plans meant that your ( _your- yours-_ you still weren’t over the pride of being in charge of your comrades) Knights would now become the faces of the First Order. Figureheads for supporters to idolise and admire. Kylo Ren himself had already paved a certain amount of fear and awe, but with all seven of you in the public eye, it would surely make for a stronger message: The First Order remains ever-powerful.  

Slipping a coat on, its collar high and tail trailing, you move through the labyrinth-like ship, descending into the belly of the beast where starcraft hum and mechanics work tirelessly. Your Upsilon-class shuttle sits near the edge of the craft bay, its wings folded in like an eagle perched upon the edge of space itself, watching the stars flicker and glow beneath its hooked beak. You are greeted by another officer who clicks together two heels and raises a hand to her forehead upon your approach. “Master Ren.” The title has a certain ring to it when she utters the duo of words and beneath your helmet you crack an unseen smile.

“At ease, Lieutenant.” You are momentarily drawn in by a musing that she may have known the officer you had been unable to rescue from the Resistance outpost, a thought that is rapidly dismissed. “Are we ready to depart?”

“Yes ma’am,” she says with swift efficiency. “We have a crew and forty Stormtroopers on board. A precautionary number, but one we have been advised to take. They will be embarking upon a recruitment drive for new troops whilst you speak with King Galfridian. We shall be stationed nearby until the two of you have completed your negotiations in the citadel.”

A frown is quick to form upon your brow. “The two of us,” you repeat, previous perceptions of competence scattered. “You’re mistaken, Lieutenant. It will just be me speaking with the King.”

Her lips unpurse and purse as she swipes a finger over her datapad, desperation in the action. “Forgive me, [y/n] Ren, but I have been informed that you will be accompanied.”

You don’t know how better to tell her that you are, essentially, in charge of this current operation and that you therefore would know if you had chosen to bring someone along for the ride with you (because, after all, you were more than capable of doing this alone and their presence would be as nothing more than a companion), but you begin to make your point as audible words. “I can assure you—“

Any further syllables are promptly shut within the confines of your mouth as your jaw snaps closed. Kylo Ren glides past you and the officer with all the fervour of his former un-injured self, only the slightest of limps marring his graceful strides as he ascends the ramp into the shuttle.

The Lieutenant looks sheepish and uncertain. You bite back the urge to shout the word _what_ and stalk after Kylo with an added sense of bristling irritation to each step.

“What are you doing,” you ask, less of a question and more of an accusation, voice ice cold and poisonous as you approach him upon the shuttle’s bridge. You feel the smug amusement roll off of him in waves.

“Problem, _Master?”_ he responds, tearing his line of sight from the window to you as if having difficulty in awarding you his full attention. A lingering taunt plays across your title.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Around you, the crew seem to duck their heads a little lower, fake concentration focused slightly too intently upon the array of controls and screens before them.

Kylo Ren says nothing and instead watches you expectantly, playing ignorant to what could _possibly_ be troubling you.

“You aren’t required upon this trip,” you state, and a certain amount of stubborn authority entwines itself around your words.

He takes his time before saying anything, seeming to savour the moment. “I beg to differ.”

You feel flames licking the back of your throat, in no mood to argue. “I will pull rank,” you warn, more than willing to order him to leave the shuttle.

“And, respectfully,” he begins, his use of the word almost eliciting a cough of laughter from you, “I will remind you that you have had no experience in diplomacy and negotiation.”

You swallow an string of insults that are lined up like bullets upon your tongue, unable to agree with him but equally incapable of denying that he is right. _What happened to the loyalty of a Knight_ , you reflect bitterly, pushing the thought out towards him.

He picks up on it instantly, brushes a fleck of dust from his shoulder, and offers a response. _What’s more loyal than ensuring the new Master of Ren does not make a fool of herself in front of the King of Artorias?_

You are quick to put up your mental barriers, severing the mental link and condemning both yourself and him to silence. The following journey to the planet’s surface is peacefully quiet but full of pent up exasperation which sits crossly in your chest.

 

* * *

  

Artorias is an emerald gem of a planet, green and lush. A cool breeze plays with your hair as you stand upon the balcony of the room you and Kylo have been escorted to by the King’s hands, your helmet discarded upon arrival as a sign of respect and indeed to allow you the pleasure of inhaling fresh air. Below you, a lake stretches into the far distance, but you admire it only briefly, the dazzling reflected light of two different suns near blinding. Its banks are decorated with large, spiralling trees that resemble hands and look very much as though they are holding up the sky, and somewhere far away you hear the distant sound of music.

“He is keeping us waiting,” Kylo insists from inside for the second, third, fourth time. “Rude but intelligent. He is testing our patience.”

“As you are testing mine,” you reply, wandering back indoors through a veil of curtain, not entirely impolite but not kind either. He is more than aware of this, but years spent together have made such remarks commonplace.

You take a seat upon one of the lavish chairs, its material soft and velvety but unfelt by fingers that remain gloved. Posture is important, this is a lesson you were taught near the beginning of your training as a Knight, and your body shifts into a bearing that is polite yet confident, legs crossed at the knee. Kylo, on the other hand, remains on his feet, hands clasped behind his back with formal impatience. He too has taken off his helmet, but only to bare his battle wounds like prized war medals.

“He should be here by now,” the scarred male utters, but this time the complaint holds a weight which sounds very much like a silent threat. “You should let me do the talking when he arrives.”

You scoff at his suggestion, admiring a small golden figurine depicting Artorias, the globe small enough to be held between your index finger and thumb. “Do you think me that incompetent at holding a conversation?”

“No,” Kylo says, and his tone remains clipped. “But King Galfridian can be a difficult man to deal with. He may be an ally, but that does not mean he will be civil.”

The golden planet is placed back upon the nearby end table and you wave a dismissive hand. “Perhaps not, but if I can command the Knights and oversee the First Order’s operations, I am more than willing to at least _try_ and uphold the duties of my new position.”

You slip in the reminder with a necessary lack of subtlety, watching Kylo Ren pass a darkened glance in your direction. “This is not about _you,_ [y/n].”

“I’m not convinced,” you counter. “Am I not the reason you are here? In order to snatch at any glory and reclaim Master of Ren?”

He opens his mouth to retort, and you would have bet the entire fleet on him choosing to claim you have not had the training to do this, as if his superiority as Supreme Leader Snoke’s apprentice has heralded him with some mystical gift, but all of this is interrupted by the entrance of the King of Artorias.

“ _Two_ Knights of Ren?” King Galfridian chimes as he enters the room, double doors swinging open and closing in his wake, hands trailing at his heels like shadows. “I am **flattered**.”

Dressed all in gold, he approaches you with strides befitting of the planet’s sovereign, barely acknowledging Kylo who tries in earnest to hide that he is entirely put out by this. You stand courteously, offering a slight bow. “King Galfridian, it is a pleasure. My name is [y/n] Ren.”

The King smiles, teeth encrusted with jewels. “The pleasure is all mine,” he responds, predictable and in your opinion falsely charming. “And Kylo Ren – it has been a while. You have been fighting, I see. Is that why you are in need of more recruits? To avoid getting beaten up by the Resistance?”

Kylo raises an eyebrow. “Droll, King Galfridian. But yes, that is essentially one of the reasons as to why we are here.”

The King’s jovial expression is quick to drop at the notion of business. “Please,” he offers, “take a seat.”

You return to your previously acquired chair as he takes an adjacent one, his staff ushering themselves towards the edge of the room where they remain noiseless and still. Kylo hovers momentarily as if wishing to remain on his feet, before lowering himself into the seat to your left.

“So you need to replenish your army,” the King sighs, fingers steepled before him in thought. “I cannot guarantee that my people will _want_ to join you, but I will allow you to attempt to recruit them. As for resources, this planet is a rich and plentiful one, which is how I wish for it to remain. You can extend your current quota, but I do not want to be robbed.”

“And in return, the First Order will continue to protect you.” It is a fair trade, one that Kylo Ren and Snoke had set up nearly a decade ago. “Our arms manufacturers shall send any surplus ammunition and blasters to you within the next few weeks.”

The King nods, although he does not seem satisfied. “This galaxy has become riddled with greed. Everywhere I look there are people fighting over planets, looking to influence the highest number of people as possible.” Something wistful and sad flits through his eyes, attention caught upon the far balcony. “Alliances have become fickle and trust a rare commodity.”

Carefully, you exchange a glance with Kylo, whose face portrays little more than mystified indifference. “I can assure you, the First Order does not break its promises, King Galfridian. An ally is an ally.”

He laughs, then, a deep and hearty sound which rumbles up from his belly. “Oh I do not doubt that, [y/n] Ren. Although saying that, I have heard rumours of men within your own ranks breaking such agreements.”

You feel your spine straighten a little taller at the accusation, your gaze cool and ready to be challenged. “If you are speaking about the FN-Unit Stormtrooper who defected to the Resistance, we are taking precautions to ensure all Stormtroopers are reassessed. We do not tolerate traitors. Loyalty is encouraged in our troops from a young age, and we continue to work towards a future where the First Order remains an inspiration of motivation and innovation.”

The King tuts, a sound which cuts into you like the sharp blade of a dagger. “You recite rehearsed lines well, Ren, but you lack the conviction.” He looks to Kylo, eyes glimmering in the broken beams of sunlight bleeding through veil-thin curtains. “I was not aware that Snoke’s killers were dealing with political matters.”

“The Knights of Ren work alongside the First Order to ensure that all agendas are enforced efficiently,” Kylo Ren responds sternly.

“Ah. So the current agenda is to ensure your allies do not betray you – by which you and your guard dog here, I assume, either achieve through conversation or...” he pauses to mimic the action of a lightsaber slicing him at the neck, “ _elimination_.”

“You are half wrong,” you interject sharply, keen to hold your own in a conversation you had been rudely dismissed from. “I am no guard dog, King Galfridian. As the newly appointed Master of Ren, you would be wise to take note that I can – and will, if necessary - achieve insurance of our allies’ loyalty by any means necessary.” Your words are underlined quite clearly by your use of the Force, summoning the golden globe of the planet back into your palm. It hovers in the cup of your hand before gloved fingers enclose around it.

The King quietens at that and seems to reconsider you. “So what you are saying,” he begins, voice lowered to something that resembles intrigue, “is that you will undertake any action that ensures your allies remain faithful to the First Order.”

“No—,” Kylo Ren replies.

“ _Yes_ ,” you correct, interrupting your predecessor.

The tension in the room rises like the afternoon heat.

“Interesting,” King Galfridian hums, stroking his chin in contemplation. “And here I was thinking that I would have to sign away my life to the two Knights of Ren sitting snugly in my citadel.” He stands abruptly, robes washing over his frame like liquid gold. “In that case, I propose a deal. I will give you the numbers of recruits you require, including mercenaries, as well as my continued financial support, in exchange for our current arms contract _and_ one other component.”

“Which is?”

“An easy task for the likes of you, I would have thought.” The King smiles, a white crescent decorated with bright colours set against his dark skin. “I require the assassination of my brother, Prince Jaa.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ticking of a time bomb set to explode, lips drawn back to reveal sharp canines, metal cutlery tapping lightly against fine bone china, the disorientating dizziness of getting lost in a city you've never seen before.

Your meeting with King Galfridian is followed by tediously formal tasks including an assembly with his Council and a tour of the city which Kylo Ren abandons almost immediately. You are left to admire the capital in the company of various influential  Artorians, a lone figure in black surrounded by those garbed in glistening gem-coloured robes. It is a place of clean white architecture and rich, dense foliage, vines dripping from overhanging ledges and plants growing vertically up the side of towering walls. Building entrances are located far above your heads as you pass beneath them, accessible only by ramps which spiral up from the ground like disturbed roots of a tree. From where your procession continue below, guided over paths the colour of dirty gold which remain constantly shaded, the air is cool and refreshing. Various landmarks and places of note are pointed out, and at some point you pass a narrow strip of rushing water which slices through the entire city, decorated by the arches of various bridges, before plummeting off of the precipice and tumbling into the lake below. The noise of a waterfall is one which can be heard hauntingly down every street.

Time passes without regard until you return to the Citadel and notice that stars have beugn to appear in the sky overhead. With barely a moment to rest, you are ushered into a dining hall and attend dinner with the King who recites more than his fair share of anecdotes upon a tongue loosened by alcohol, to which you simply laugh and smile when required.

“—and the dancing. Oh, you should have been there! What a sight.” The monarch’s eyes twinkle and, though charismatic, you can barely summon enough interest or energy to remind him that the time period he is referring to is one you had not yet existed in. Instead, you sip at the glass of azure liquid which you’ve had refilled numerous times and allow Kylo to take his turn in playing charming guest.

“Your brother, the prince, had been at that ball, had he not?” your fellow Knight asks. You silently scold yourself for forgetting that the ability to partake in small talk and schmooze are not traits that Kylo Ren has. Blunt and tactful, yes. Charming and easygoing, definitely not.

The King senses the question’s source, sobering immediately. “Yes,” he says, eyes narrowing. “This was before the incident that caused me to distrust him.”

“Which was?” Kylo probes, unsubtle and remorseless.

Bejewelled teeth grind together and from where you sit you can hear the grizzly sound of stone grating against enamel. “The disappearance of my son.” There is a lengthy suspension of conversation which verges on an awkward silence before anything more is said. “He was my sole heir, born from my now-deceased wife, may her soul rest forevermore.”

You find your previously lost intrigue return in a wave, posture shifting to something significantly more alert and attentive.

“You blame your brother for your son’s disappearance and fear that he wishes to claim your throne.” It is a statement spoken with such accurate precision that you do not need the visible irritation on the King’s face to know that Kylo has plucked the facts straight from the other man’s mind. “Your theory is based on assumptions, though. Your son has gone but I would not jump to conclusions on who is to blame quite so quickly.”

The words fall from his mouth without care, tainted by accusation and no small amount of personal influence. You shoot him a scornful look, wondering what his objective was. Did he intend to ruin this alliance in order to make you look bad? Was he really so eager to sabotage your reign as Master of Ren?

“Get out,” King Galfridian snaps, pointing violently at the door. Kylo Ren half-smirks, half-sneers, before leaving with pleasure.

You do not ask the King to forgive Kylo, his actions inexcusable, and decide to project your own frustration towards him in order to alert him to the fact that it was a feeling shared.

“His attitude stems from underlying guilt. I have experienced it myself.” The monarch sighs, rubbing his temples.

“Perhaps so,” you respond. “But it is something he ought to learn to deal with.”

The King nods in agreement. “I do not want it to be him who kills my brother, he is already tormented by enough demons. It must be you, [y/n] Ren. I am a good judge of character and I know that you are tough. You were created to do this, to do the things that others do not want to. Supreme Leader Snoke knew what he was doing when he trained the young.” His eyes meet yours and you see the pain the dwells there, a conscious torn to pieces by internal struggles, accompanied by a spark of pity or maybe sympathy. You overlook this final element, refusing to acknowledge it properly.

Soon after, when you finally reach your assigned room which is yet unseen by your own eye, you find a weariness has sunk its jaws deep into your flesh. The bed sits in the centre, wide and welcoming, beckoning you over. Garments are stripped from your body and replaced with silk pyjamas that resemble the colour of liquid silver. Lying down, your head touches the pillow and you allow yourself to surrender to your drowsiness, unwinding your mind. Without purpose, you extend your mental presence outwards and immediately regret it.

Kylo Ren’s rage burns away next door like a caldera, full of tension and fear.

Laying there as your own anger builds, disregarding any lack of energy, you are soon fuelled into action by zeal for your own personal defence in regards to his previous behaviour. Begrudgingly abandoning comfort, you march to his door and let yourself in, the Force no match for any privacy settings.

“How _dare_ you,” leaves your lips as a hiss, but you are barely given enough time to continue your sentence before he is there, suddenly present in the darkness. Kylo Ren wraps his bare fingers around your neck, silencing you immediately out of sheer shock at his audacity.

“I could kill you,” he states, predatory, sadistic and threatening.

You curl your own fingers around his wrist, nails digging into pale skin. “And I you.” Your voice is thick and full of bite. “I knew it. _This_. This is why you are here. _Jealousy._ You can’t bear the idea that you have been demoted. That another Knight of Ren has found themselves more favourable in the eyes of Snoke than the founder himself.”

“Can you blame me?!” Kylo barks back, grip tightening, your lungs forced to work a little harder. “I am the reason you are here today. It is all because of _me_. If I hadn’t given you the chance to join me, I would have slaughtered you just like I did with the others in that godforsaken temple.”

He pushes you to the wall and you growl as bone hits brick, returning the pain in kindness by digging your nails deeper until dark red blossoms prettily to the surface of his wrist. He barely regards this drawing of blood. “ _I_ am not the cause of all of this,” you declare, struggling against his hold until you feel some give. “Stop taking it out on me like a child.”

You are dropped, then, as if burning him, red hot and scalding. Air is drawn back inside your body and he moves away, ever-incapable of uttering a single apology. You watch him pace back and forth like an animal by the window, silhouetted by the moon and cast in its ethereal pale light. There was an inevitability to this happening, you realise. The two of you both wanted the same thing, obstinate insolence driving you both to bite at each other’s throats. And in that moment, the predicament of King Galfridian and his brother flits to the forefront of your mind: one man willing to kill his kin to protect their throne. It was ironic, really, and perhaps under different circumstances you would have laughed.

“I know what it feels like,” you say after a while, heightened emotions having settled to a less destructive level of adrenaline. “Failure.”

He exhales, expelling bitter thoughts into the shadows. “It haunts me,” he admits. “Failure and success alike. None of it pleases me anymore. Especially now.”

There is no need to ask what it is that he’s referring to, the snarl-like expression written plainly across his face says it all. Han Solo had not been a father figure to him for a very long time, but that fact did little to quell the guilt that had buried itself into the marrow of his bones. Killing was easy, but forgetting was not.

You move towards the bed, quiet and careful, his untouched sheets suggesting sleep did not come easy for him. “Do you remember,” you begin, words now hushed in dizzying contrast to the venomous syllables which had dripped from your lips just a few moments before, “in the first months of training, just after we joined you and Snoke, that the other Knights and I used to sleep in the same beds?”

Kylo presents you with a small frown. “Yes, it was a soft, childish thing to do, but you were all young and foolish and the Light still lingered.”

You bat away his insult with a hand, throwing quilted covers aside before slipping under them. The mattress is firm and cold, leaving you to mourn the previous warmth of your own bed. If Kylo has any qualms with you making yourself at home, he does not voice them. “I had wondered why you never asked to join us,” you continue, memories of him as an adolescent regarding the rest of the group with a hint of what you assumed to be narcissistic superiority, always distancing himself. Your eyelids flit shut. “But you are the foolish one, Kylo. You banished yourself to isolation like a Jedi, whilst we encouraged our yearning for bonds. We were just teenagers when this all started, remember. We craved the comfort of company whilst you did your best to pretend you could cope on your own. In the end, it is only _you_ who continues to feel that draw towards the Light. _You_ who harbours guilt for killing a Resistance supporter. And why?”

Your tongue pauses and you wonder whether you have gone too far with this, whether telling Kylo Ren that he didn’t know how to deal with the Dark Side’s power was equivalent to telling Snoke that you had decided to join the Resistance. In other words, a **terrible** idea.  But you continue for the sake of being right, petty but truthful. “It is because the weight of the Force in its darkest of forms needs to be _shared_. We can’t do this alone.”

As this, you open your eyes to find him staring down at you from the foot of the bed. His features are unreadable, an array of emotions seeming to flow out from him whilst simultaneously showing none at all. You suddenly become hyper-aware of your own breathing, the slight jump in your pulse, despite the fact that your body is at rest. It is his gaze that unnerves you, one pupil clouded and white whilst the other almost completely black, studying you like an unveiled piece of artwork by a sculptor he has never heard of.

“What are you saying?” he asks, the question holding a noticeable amount of weight to it which you decide is better to ignore than investigate.

You blink, offer a small smile, and break eye contact by rolling over onto your side. “I’m saying go to sleep, Kylo.”

The seconds that follow seem to drag endlessly, until at some point the mattress beside you dips at the weight of a second body, and you try valiantly to stop thinking about the faint warmth of his breath playing across the back of your neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went from 0 to 100 real quick, whoops. I'm not sure how I feel about it and I almost scrapped the whole thing to start again but then talked myself into thinking it was reasonably okay for a filler chapter before we get to the next plot point???
> 
> I feel this is as good a place as any to explain my view on the Dark Side, but it revolves mostly around a post on tumblr which describes the Force as entropic - in that its natural state is similar to the Dark Side and that "being a Jedi is about keeping it tamed so it doesn’t eat you the way it actually wants".
> 
> As the gorgeous Kelly (@witchoil) summed it up, the Force is malleable and dangerous and incomprehensible to the human mind and those fighting for the Light are those with the deepest fear of the Force, whereas the Dark Side are those who are fascinated by its danger - or as she so beautifully put it in her tags #THE ONES AT RISK ARE THOSE WHO ARE FASCINATED BY OPEN WATER #''EAT ME'' THE THING CALLED TO THE STARVING GIRL #AND SHE ATE
> 
> (here's the original post for those interested: http://bogleech.tumblr.com/post/136580504533/you-know-with-all-the-language-throughout-star)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The humid electric feeling that fills the atmosphere before a storm, gentle touches that lead nowhere but also everywhere, following one another loyally into the jaws of danger, learning to brush aside ghosts of the past, the sound of a metal blade slicing through the flesh of sweet, sticky fruit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter includes violence because murderous villains cannot do their dark deeds without spilling a little blood. Like the previous chapter, this one is full of contrasting moments. What can I say, displays of affection manifest themselves in many peculiar ways.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is sticking with me for this story and to those who comment the loveliest praise. You're all my MVPs.

In the unknown and incomprehensible territory of your mind during sleep, something begins to swarm. It is an unnerving feeling to know that you have no control over that which your head can conjure whilst helpless to the constraints of slumber, and one that you cannot truly appreciate until you awake. Behind your eyelids, snippets of information manifest themselves into a violent story which does not quite make sense. Black and red and black and red, a man slipping, now falling, now dead. A wave of heat from an unseen fire mixed with the bitter sting of the cold. A pain so excruciating that it wrecks both body and mind, blood pouring out onto a blank white canvas which seems to melt away until you are surrounded by a light so bright that it jolts you back to consciousness.

Early morning sunlight streams in through the bedroom window, silvery and yet to hold any warmth. It takes a moment for you to process everything, surroundings and dream alike. You come close to checking the sheets beneath you for a pool of fresh blood, having been half concerned  that the injuries sustained in your nightmare were real wounds. Turning onto one side, your breath catches in your throat at the sudden awareness of a presence beside you. Kylo Ren sits, spine flush with the headboard, watching you with an expression that is both uncertain and intrigued. “You felt it,” he says, and there is no mistaking the remaining fragments of hollow anguish which linger in his voice.

You do not say anything, are hesitant as to how to respond, but the way you duck your head and allow a curtain of hair to fall over the grim, tight-lipped smile on your face must give Kylo a form of answer as he then continues. 

“I hadn’t intended to project. I—,” he silences himself, staring out over your half-curled form beneath the covers, lost for a moment to his own internal dialogue. His gaze seems lost and full of secrets. “There was a truth to what you said, about needing to share the weight, but I do not think that is something you should be burdened with.”

There is a lack of emphasis on any of the words in his final statement, and you stretch out to look at him properly, propped up on your forearms, elbows tucked beneath you. “Me _personally_?” you query, an undertone of argumentative probing to the question, teeth bared behind soft lips like a threat, ready to defend your own honour by making it very clear that you did not need to be considered incapable of _anything_.

Kylo Ren exhales a snort through his nose and comes very close to rolling his eyes, an action usually saved for others to use in response to his own reckless behaviour.  “Always so quick to protect yourself.” It is a musing which perhaps would have been better said in the privacy of his own head, for you retract yourself away from him in response, shifting to the edge of the bed which is cool and unwelcoming.

“I am not here to be insulted,” you quip, aware that you were in that very moment proving his point right, but intent on continuing for the sake of being consistent.

“Then why are you here?” he asks, the question seeming to take you both by surprise. He parts his lips to add something more but then decides it is unnecessary, so merely returns to looking at you with sharp expectancy.

In those few seconds, you feel akin to a predator’s prey, ready to be ripped apart should you falter and stumble. It is a topic you had narrowly avoided the night before, one that he is well aware causes a sense of awkward discomfort to consider. There is a sadistic element to his query, you decide, wanting to watch you squirm under the turmoil of your own contemplation. “I’ve already given you an answer: because you cannot shoulder the weight of this alone.”

The trace of a smirk pulls at one corner of his mouth. “That is not what I asked. Why are you _here_?” He does not _need_ to gesture at the bed to further your understanding of his point, but does so anyway.

A variety of clever remarks offer themselves up to you. _Because beds and sleep tend to go hand in hand. Because the universe forged its atoms into my vessel of a body. Because I am undertaking a duty as Master of Ren to ensure this planet remains an ally to the First Order._ But none of these are said, for the words die upon your tongue as you realise your apprehension of offering up the truth to Kylo Ren. “Because it is lonely, being on a strange planet in the company of people you don’t know.”

He remains silent, motionless, holding your gaze ruthlessly as though summoning the entirety of your attention. Staring back with a far more guarded air, you remain captivated for a few heartbeats before blinking. This seems to stir him back into the conversation.

“You found comfort in knowing I was here.” It is a statement that would have made you wince and deny had it not been spoken with such conviction. “Reassurance from the presence of someone who understands.” You become aware, then, that he is speaking from personal understanding.

“Yes.” The confirmation is one you feel he will benefit from, and if the very slight relaxation of tensed shoulders is anything to go by then you are correct. It was a powerful affinity, the one that the Knights of Ren all harboured for one another. Both of you had been stripped bare and moulded into sophisticated and highly deadly instruments capable of terrible things. You wandered a similar path which, though forking off in separate tangents at times, seemed always to stem back to a route in the same direction. **Darkness**. “I was also _angry_ ,” you add as an afterthought, catching sight of the claw-like marks on his wrist.

Recalling the incident, he absently reaches out and slides a finger beneath your jaw. It is a strangely tender movement, one that stumbles into unknown territory. You raise your chin, once again put on edge, cautious and watchful as he observes the tender curve of your neck. This is not an offering of compliance, you think, eyes narrowing at the submissive gesture he has forced you to perform. “No bruises,” Kylo reports with formal efficiency, the support of his hand taken away as swiftly as it was applied. Swallowing, you settle back down and stare for a little too long at the pillow by your head, the ghost like feeling of his warm touch lingering.

“It was unprovoked anger,” he lilts as if reminding you, and the temerity of even suggesting such a thing causes you to huff a sharp bark of laughter.

“If I recall, you yet again made an attempt to ruin my repertoire with the King by abusing his privacy.”

He take offense to the suggestion, frowning darkly. “I was _helping,_ ” Kylo insists, words uttered with an authoritative force that sweeps across you like a shadow.

You mirror his frown, brows sweeping together. “Enlighten me as to how that was helping.”

“You are not as clever as you think you are, [y/n].” It is not spoken in spite, rather as a careful warning, but this fact does nothing to soften your expression. “Supreme Leader Snoke has taught me a great many things, but the most important is to stay one step ahead of everyone. King Galfridian will place any lost trust in me in you, therefore opening up and becoming more manageable. Whilst he fears me, he has confidence in you. And if that remains, then there is no need for his ridiculous request to be carried out. We have more important things to deal with.”

His words come as a surprise, spoken with such intelligent understanding and devised with such little fault that you find yourself smiling ever so slightly at the situation. This curve on your lips only stretches further when you say, “Perhaps, but the assassination of the prince will still be upheld.”

The argument which follows is short and sweet, him arguing his point that a Knight of Ren should not be taking orders from anyone outside of the circle and you disputing that extinguishing threats to the First Order’s operations is what you do best. You soon find yourself stood in the hallway having been snappily commanded to leave his room, triumphantly smug.

 

* * *

 

 

Prince Jaa’s dwellings are located on the opposite side of the planet to his ruling brother’s Citadel, set in the centre of a forest of trees which tower over everything and smother the sky with their presence. The Upsilion-class shuttle hums as it swoops down to land upon a pristine lawn, blades of grass each cut to a precise height flattening beneath the weight of the sleek black machine and then by the feet of white troopers spilling out like clockwork into a regimented line of cadets. They are followed by Kylo Ren’s steady march, his coat sweeping out behind him like a wake through water. It hadn’t taken long for you to persuade him to assist you in your quest for murder, his own sadistic nature flared by your own attraction for bloodlust.

You watch on as he approaches the entrance, two guards momentarily considering asking him to halt and state his purpose for visitation before wisely moving aide without a word. It is a powerful sight to behold, and one that triggers a hedonistic sense of power to fill  your skull, caressed by the Force itself. It detaches itself from your surroundings, rubbing against you, cat-like and purring, spurring your strides forwards and onwards.

Following in the shadow of Kylo, you are careful to alter your own posture and presence from its normal surefooted confidence, shrinking into becoming someone small and unnoticed. Masked as one of the King’s handmaidens, your disguise is near weightless, consisting of trademark silvery white robes which slide smoothly over your skin, the uniform allowing you to blend in with three other hands who seem somewhat perplexed as to why the King has sent them with the First Order to visit his brother. They do not utter a word, filing off of the shuttle like well-programmed droids. You follow and observe all from behind a semi-transparent veil, lashes skimming the material every time you blink. The pair of guards on the door do not bat an eye at your presence, too worried by the abrupt and unscheduled arrival of Kylo Ren himself. Alarm resonates from them in waves, large and looming and full of echoing worries of reprimand from their superior. The hierarchy of employment here was not unlike the military ranks of the First Order, you muse.

The air within the building seems to sit heavy upon your shoulders. It is a strange feeling but you dismiss it for the tension felt by the prince’s household staff, a sudden flurry of movement and the muffled sounds of hastily spoken words heard from the rooms above your heads. Prince Jaa appears, then, at the top of an ornate staircase, one hand gripped around the banister. “Well this is a surprise,” he says, descending slowly. His face holds an uncanny resemblance to that of his brother the King, but it lacks the decadence of jewels and does not show any sign of being able to lift into a smile. “I was not expecting guests from the First Order. You must excuse me – I am somewhat unprepared.”

He reaches the foot of the stairs and stands before Kylo, equally as proud and regal.

“Your brother, the King, advised that we pay you a visit,” the Knight of Ren offers as a bluntly unapologetic explanation, his voice carried by synthetic sound waves .

“Did he now.” The remark slides from Prince Jaa’s mouth, swathed in unhidden resentment for his royal sibling. His eyes flick briefly over you and the rest of Kylo Ren’s entourage. “I must ask you and your people to give up your arms before I can host you. A safety procedure, I’m afraid. Ever since the disappearance of the King’s son, we cannot be too careful.”

Kylo nods in response, surrendering his lightsaber into a box offered for containment by a guard. The rest of you follow suit, and you thank your own quick thinking to leave your own weapon aboard the shuttle lest reveal your true identity.

Satisfied, the prince continues. “I will have your people seen to and provisioned. My brother’s hands can help my own staff with any work that needs doing. Please, join me in my meeting room.” With a flick of his wrist, the prince’s staff seem to crawl out from the woodwork, busying themselves around you all in a flurry of bodies.

Kylo disappears with the Prince down a corridor.

 _< <I’m beginning to think I pulled the short straw.>> _You hum your musing upon shared wavelengths, ushered by a burly Rattataki woman down a set of narrow footsteps and into a room that resembles some form of kitchen.

<< _It_ _was_ your _plan_ ,>> Kylo points out. His voice slides into your mind with ease, tone mellow and heightened by a self-satisfied superiority. You go to scowl behind your veil but hesitate, a different presence flittering through your peripheral senses. It disappears as soon as you register it, impossible to confirm. You decide to keep your thoughts to yourself from then on.

Instructed to prepare food for your own Stormtroopers, you are careful as you move about the kitchen, remaining alert but discreet. Stationed at a counter with employees of the prince, they give you unwelcome glances mid-action before continuing to talk amongst themselves. You chop gloomily at an angular green plantain fruit, unable to keep yourself from listening to fragments of their conversation.

“I’m just saying, some warning would have been nice...”

“...they clearly lack respect for the prince. It’s no surprise the king has sent them...”

“...apparently he was quick to conceal those other representatives.”

You pause at that, sounds of rhythmic chopping ceased abruptly. “Others?” you ask, and a flicker of fear manifests upon the face of the male nearest to you as he remembers who it is you accompany .

“Th—,” he begins, but you tear through his mental barriers with sharp claws and hunt down your answer with terrifying precision. Brief images of figures in robes are summoned up, showing a pair of vaguely familiar yet faceless people ascending the very same stairs the prince had come down from upon your arrival. _The Resistance_. 

In a swirl of airy material, you turn on heel and stalk back towards the building entrance to the sound of an angry matron calling you back to your post. A hand is apprehended midway as you near the meeting room. She startles with a look of confusion.

“You are going to give me that serving tray and return to the shuttle,” you say.

“I am going to give you this serving tray and return to the shuttle,” she repeats.

The flat silver disk is cold as you balance it upon your fingertips and approach the meeting room door. The guard that stands before it manages a small smile before pushing it open for you, unaware of the adrenaline-fuelled danger he has just unleashed into the room.

Prince Jaa and Kylo Ren sit at a long, beautifully crafted table that resembles the colour of wet granite, in chairs adjacent to one another, exchanging low words. You approach them in as calm a manner as you can muster, setting the tray and its lone glass down whilst surveying the room. Seven guards are counted, including the one stationed by the door, all positioned strategically around the perimeter. Blaster rifles remain holstered at their sides, but the presence of the First Order means they are tense and ready to act.

You calculate your chances,  still concerned by the pressing matter of rebel activity.   _< <This will be quick,>>_ you inform Kylo, shooting a brief look into the black emptiness of his helmet with an equally dark expression.   _< <Prepare yourself. It would appear we may have company in the form of Resistance members.>>_

He does not stir.

 “Your drink, your grace,” you say with as placid and as plain an accent as you can muster. The glass is placed in front of the monarch, but before you can draw your hand back you find Prince Jaa’s grip wrapping vice-like around your wrist.

“My brother always hires such young, pretty little things,” he drawls, the words prickling at your skin. You take that as your cue.

It is an artful business, killing. To end someone’s life in a premeditated manner takes some skill, one you have sharpened and honed for years into a fearsome delicacy. Having concealed the knife previously used in the kitchen between draping folds of soft fabric, you unleash the blade with your free hand and drive it without hesitation into Prince Jaa’s neck where it sticks.

Many things then happen all at once.

Kylo Ren is quick to dispose of a handful of guards who are thrown across the room with such force that their landing is punctuated by the deadly cracking of skulls and spines. Their slightly more fortunate comrades are spurred into action, taken by surprise but rapid in raising their blasters.

A scarlet stream bubbles up to the surface of the prince’s jugular, accompanied by the spluttering sound of a man drowning within the confines of his own skeleton. Your mission achieved, you duck as a rifle shot propels through the room and narrowly misses the crown of your head. Its firer soon meets their demise as you summon the Force, applying it to his windpipe with a clawed hand that curls into your palm until the victim is blue in the cheeks and no longer breathing.

During this, another stream of events takes place. A predator playing with its food, Kylo Ren disarms the remaining three guards with a mere gesture, sending the blasters scattering. One attempts to regain his weapon and finds himself meeting the same fate to the other fallen bodies in the room.

Another decides to try a different tactic, hurtling straight at you with impressive strength. His body hits yours and you are pushed to the ground only to become trapped by the hulking beast of a man who applies his fist to your face with a heavy punch. Pain ricochets through your jaw like lightening and you yowl like a desert cat, battling a heady dizziness. You respond by placing a palm to his temple and pushing until bone hits the floor, spurred on by a borrowed strength which happily assists you in your deadly pursuit, repeating, repeating, repeating, until the foe is no more.

You remember to breathe, ripping the blood smeared veil from your face before pushing yourself to your feet.

Kylo Ren stands above a similar site, the two of you alone in a room full of corpses.

“I think we’ve outstayed our welcome,” you say through a mouth full of iron-tasting liquid.

The laugh that seeps through his helmet sounds like music in the mayhem and you come to realise that even robotic frequencies can sound elated.


End file.
